On my last day, I made straight for civilization and every straight, state route I could find. I’d had enough of trails and knew that Route 22 would take me exactly where I wanted to go. What Day 3 lacked in memorable experiences it made up for by depositing me near the neighborhood I grew up in and letting me take one last bike ride through streets I haven’t ridden on since childhood. Perhaps those are all the memories I need of those places… If I made new memories, I’m glad they are memories of me remembering the moments when I was happiest in my life. I rode on, checked into my hotel room and slept soundly on a comfortable bed that night. Mission accomplished.
When it comes to adventure traveling by bicycle, for some, the challenge is physical — saddle sores, burning muscles, aching joints, cramps, endless sweating, dehydration and sun burn. For others, it’s a mental exercise in keeping motivated while enduring long hours and even days of solitude. There’s the fear of getting lost, and the realization that you have no idea where you are most of the time. There’s the fear of a break down, of a catastrophic equipment failure. And nothing reminds you of just how much you are a slave to the things you own as scrambling to collect them all when a bungie cord snaps loose and dumps your belongings all over the road. Whatever your greatest fear, either you will find it out on the road, or it will find you. Embrace it, conquer it, and keep going.
Hemingway was absolutely right. That road, those hills, the trees, streams, rivers and lakes will never forget me, just as I will never forget them. The people I interacted with, even if just for a moment in a passing glance… they saw me and I saw them. For one, fleeting moment, the passage of every day life ceased and a new memory was forged. There has been a mutual exchange, in some way, and we are each more than we were before because of it.
I’ve always wanted to travel — to experience a unique lifestyle that few will or can. The expense and time required, however, have always held me back. I can’t afford to visit Thailand, France or Amsterdam — considered by many to be the biking meccas of the world — but for this two-wheeled adventurer on a budget, the backwoods of Pennsylvania proved to be about as exotic a locale as can be found. It’s hard to imagine that there could be more places left to explore in this state, but when you see the world from the seat of a bike, you learn just how much there is of it to see.
By Dale Culp
Leave A Comment